


Wings to Fly

by ripplestorm



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Depressing Thoughts, I think?, I'm sorry for hurting you, Injury, Iwa-chan isn't there to help him, Oikawa overworks himself again, Swearing, Tooru you poor thing, a little bit, but not clinical depression, fear of always not being good enough, first name basis, knee injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 13:48:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8535568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ripplestorm/pseuds/ripplestorm
Summary: Tooru doesn't know how he ever let himself become so dependent on Iwa-chan. He wasn't going to be beside him every moment, for the rest of his life, standing as his pillar. Tooru knows he has to find his own strength eventually. Maybe that eventually is now.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey 
> 
> First Haikyuu!! fic I'm posting, lol. I actually wrote this as a outlet when I was feeling down, but it means something more now, after I'm done. It was difficult to finish this, ha ha. 
> 
> In the end though, I hope I did Oikawa justice with the descriptions of crippling self doubt and all. 
> 
> (I fixed this for a word limit, so the flow may be a bit stilted occasionally)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

_Stronger. Stronger, faster, more precise, better, the best, only the best, nothing less. Nothing less._

Oikawa clenches his teeth, the tips of his fingers white against the familiar surface of a volleyball. He exhales, air whistling past the spaces between his teeth. He looks down at the ball in his hands before closing his eyes in an attempt to concentrate. He banishes thoughts of the tiredness of his body. He tries his hardest to drown the voice in his head. He refuses to acknowledge the slight tremor in his hands.

A moment of heated silence passes and he releases some of that unnatural tension, the lines of his body making him out as a predator, fierce. Shadows fall across his eyes, and when he opens them, they almost glow with an intensity of a monster. This is the look that sets fear in his opponents and wariness in even his own team.

The gaze that marks him as a superior king even to geniuses, a monster.

In those quietly blazing eyes, he displays not only scary calm, needlepoint focus, and dangerous determination, but also hints of vulnerability – the barest signs of a crack, a fall, broken walls, and a crumbling fortress – hidden behind his unnatural concentration. Indeed, behind the grand king’s stare is a broken heart of glass.

Oikawa takes another moment to still himself, keeping his eyes focused on the ball. His body moves to a serving position on instinct, tongue poking at the corner of his mouth. The next instant, he’s tossing the ball up, high in the air. He darts forward, sweat flying off his face, legs taking him to the edge of the court. He stops there, for a fraction of a second, and jumps.

For a moment, he hangs there, the volleyball descending to that perfect point. He scans the court and in an instant, decides where he’s going to aim his serve at. His mouth pulls into a triumphant grin despite the storm in his head, and Oikawa swings with what power he has left.

As soon as his hand connects, he knows, and the smile falls from his lips.

_Out._

The ball bounces four times before settling in a roll. Severe disappointment floods him and there is an onslaught of emotions attacking his mind.

He doesn’t land gracefully, like he usually would, like he should. His right foot hits the ground first. Oikawa knows, even before pain jolts up from his knee, what this failure will cost.

_It hurts._

He crumbles to the ground, trembling hands pushing against the floor. Because for every action there must be a reaction, right? Then he must not be pushing very hard. He tries to sit upright, tries to set aside the pulsing pain in his knee, tries to force his body to _move, dammit_. He tries not to cry.

_Fuck._

Oikawa gives up trying to pull himself up, because what strength he has left is focused on holding in cries. His efforts are useless anyway. A part of him wonders when and how he came to be in this terrible mess. He, this whole thing, everything – it’s not even a _hot_ mess. When did he become so weak and dependant that he can’t even pick himself up when it matters? How did he let this happen? How could he not have noticed just how much he relied on Iwa-chan tell him when enough was enough, to look out for him, to take care of him when he was hurt?

It hurts. It really hurts. It hurts _so damn much_ and Tooru doesn’t know if he wants to scream or cry. Is the price of his pride worth it in the face of agony?

He does both. Hoarse, gasping screams pierce the air. Tears trace their way down his face. They hit the floor with a splatter that seems to echo.

Under all the physical pain, his fortitude crumbles rapidly, at a rate that leaves him too vulnerable to his doubts. They surge and tumble around in his head, relentlessly tearing at his mental barriers, destroying his mind. Like a tempest of all his self-doubt and insecurities.

A sneering voice echoes in his mind, recounting in detail all his failures. It tells stories of how he lost to Shiratorizawa. It dumps salt in the gaping wound of failures. The voice – it’s his own, really – whispers how pathetic he is. It grows in a slow crescendo, dragging out all of Tooru’s insecurities. With the roar of screams and apathetic voices rushing in his ears, the last pieces of his mask slips from numb fingers.

He wonders how he ever thought that practice, practice, and more practice could bring him to the top. He laughs bitterly, the sound coming out as a choked breath gasp. Is it… is this all worthless? No matter how hard he practiced, how meticulous his game plan was, or how much effort his team put out, the results were always the same. Tooru and Hajime had never once caught up to Ushiwaka. They always grasped at Shiratorizawa’s retreating backs.

How would he lead his team to Nationals? Maybe, if they train harder… That has to be the answer. Tooru could see no other way. Practice, practice, and practice… For what? So they could suffer defeat once more? So he could see Hajime desperately fight back tears at their last tournament?

He carefully presses a hand to his knee, gulping back a howl of pain. What if this injury is so bad that he won’t be able to play anymore? What if Hajime was right? He probably was. Iwaizumi Hajime is pretty much always right when it comes to Tooru. He was always nagging Tooru to take better care of himself. 

_“I’d better not find you lying in the gym exhausted, Shittykawa!!”_

_“I don’t care what you say. If you don’t get your ass home this moment, I swear I will drag you there myself.”_

_“You idiot. You overworked yourself again. Did you already forget what I said about being careful?”_

Tooru sucked in a lungful of hot, stifling air. _Iwa-chan is always right._ He overworked himself, and now he might not be able to play anymore. And if he couldn’t play… he might as well throw away his dreams of becoming professional.  A new kind of pain tugs at his already fragile heart.

He recognizes it. Anguish. He feels so lost, with a thousand “what if” scenarios playing out in his mind. What if… what if… what if… There’s an urge to scream in frustration and defeat.

_“Dumbass Oikawa! Didn’t I tell you? Someone who can’t see the opponent standing right in front of him can’t defeat the opponent that lies beyond.”_

Tooru stops for a moment, teary eyes widening with newfound understanding. _Iwa-chan is always right_. If he can’t even get past his own damn self, then how could he expect to overcome other obstacles? There is no hope, no solution for anyone who allows themselves to drown in agony.

Hajime has always been his strength, his pillar, his constant. But Tooru can’t just rely on his best friend forever. He has to learn to fly on his own eventually… right? He’s a third year. Tooru can’t keep this up, running to Hajime all the time for every problem he has and crying on his shoulder when his doubts get the better of him.

Hajime can’t be his strength forever, so Tooru has to be his own. Better now than later. Better right this moment than in a year, when he’s sobbing on the gym floor at university, hundreds of kilometres from home.

… That’s right. Next year, they won’t be together. He needs to learn how to look after himself and not push himself so hard. He needs to he needs to he needs to heneedsto – There’s so much he needs to learn in order to stand on his own. His dreams are his own, after all, not Hajime’s. They were _never_ Hajime’s. He’s there to support and even follow him if Tooru needed, but… It’s all Tooru.

Only he can do what he dreamed, and how can he accomplish that while depending so heavily Hajime?

He grits his teeth and tentatively twists to his side. It doesn’t hurt so badly, though his knee still hurts. His entire body is sore due to overexertion, but he somehow manages to push himself up on his elbows.

Tooru wipes the tears away and laughs a little as he glances at his knee. “Iwa-chan is going to kill me.”

But at least he would still have his best friend to help him through.

The squeak of sneakers brings his gaze up. Hajime stands there, looking winded. He offers Tooru the barest hint of a smile before scowling at the scene before him. It doesn’t even scare Tooru, the glare he receives (lies, of course), because Hajime is there, and that’s all that really matters at the moment.

“Damn right I will.”


End file.
